A Universal Feeling
by VivaLaVita
Summary: Five stages of grief. Four soul mates torn apart forever. Three lives spared.  Two untimely deaths. One misguided act of faith that would change their lives forever.


**Stage 1: Denial and Isolation  
>Lupin &amp; Sirus<br>**_"They aren't dead. They can't be dead. He can't be dead."__  
><em>_  
><em>"Sirus, open the god damned door!"

Sirus Black opened his eyes at the sound of a persistent knocking upon his door. He turned his head slightly from his spot on the couch to peer through the nearby window. The sun was beginning to break through the gloom that had settled over London for the past week and the rain had finally come to a stop.

"I know you're in there Padfoot! I'll blast this bloody thing down if I have to," said the voice of Remus Lupin followed by another round of knocking.

With a heavy sigh Sirus pushed himself up into a sitting position and rested his head in his hands.

"I'm serious Sirus! You have five seconds to open this door!"

Sirus lifted his head, running a hand through the mess of matted hair upon his head. With another sigh he removed himself from the couch and made his way to the door.

"Alright then, I'll take your silence as tacit compliance to blast this door to pieces. Five…four…three…two…o-"

"You can stop that now," Sirus said hoarsely as he opened the door for his friend, flinching slightly as the brightness of the sun hit his face. "Honestly Moony, keep your bloody pants on."

Remus stood silent for a few drawn out seconds, taking in Sirus' more than usually unkempt appearance.

"You look like shit," he concluded, pushing his way past Sirus and stepping into the flat.

"Thanks mate," Sirus replied lowly as he shut the door. He turned to find Lupin staring at him expectantly. "What?"

"What? You lock yourself in your flat for three days and you want me to explain why I had to threaten the lively hood of your front door just to get your attention? You know bloody hell what Sirus."

"Remus I can't handle this right now. If you're looking for someone to have a go at, feel free to bother someone else," sighed Sirus as he made his way back the couch he had previously occupied.

Remus opened his mouth slightly as if to further the argument before decidedly closing it and taking a seat next to Sirus.

"Look, we need to talk," he said softly.

"Funny enough, I don't feel much like chatting today mate."

"You haven't felt much like cleaning or bathing either by the look of things."

Sirus shot his friend a dark look before closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the couch.

"Pads, you can't keep yourself shut off like this. You've got to-"

"I told you I don't want to talk about it," interjected Sirus.

"Come on mate, we're all going through the same thing…"

"Don't presume to know how I feel."

"…and it's not going to do you any good..."

"It was working just fine until you came barging in."

"…to keep moping about. You've got to come to terms with what has happened…"

"Moony, I don't want to talk about it."

"…and you've got to think of what James and Lily…"

"Don't say their names."

"… would have wanted. Do you think they'd be proud to know that you've just shut down completely…"

"Please, Moony."

"…because they've died?"

"Shut up!" shouted Sirius, jumping up from his seat on the couch. "Just…just…shut up," he stuttered before turning slowly and shuffling from the room.

Remus heard the sound of a door slam down the hall and sighed. He knew this was not going to be easy, but the dull nagging voice in his head told him that Sirus needed this. That _he_ needed this. Raising himself up from the couch, he slowly made his way down the carpeted hallway, coming to a stop at Sirus' bedroom door. He knocked softly.

"Padfoot?"

After a few moments of silence he opened the door to find Sirus sitting on the bed, staring at his hands. He waited for him to move, or perhaps protest his presence, but he continued to remain silent.

As he took a step towards the bed Sirus looked up at him, his face completely void of any emotion.

"They aren't dead," he said slowly, his voicing cracking. "Th- they can't be dead. _He_ can't be dead." 

**Stage 2: Anger  
>Sirus<br>**_Never had there been a living soul more deserving of death.  
><em>**  
><strong>His very core had shattered. His reality, his life, his mate: all gone. Nothing mattered any more. That is to say, nothing mattered except killing Peter Pettigrew.

Sirus paced the length of his flat for what seemed like the thousandth time, replaying the past few days over again in his head. James, dead. Lily, dead. Harry, alive and off to live with some bloody muggles. Peter…

Sirus came to a sudden stop midway down the hall.

Peter might was well have been dead. In fact, had anyone bothered to ask Sirus (anyone other than his annoyingly persistent and optimistic friend *cough* Moony *cough*) he would undeniably notify them of that fact that never had there been a living soul more deserving of death than Peter Pettigrew.

Sirus leaned into the wall and slid heavily into a sitting position. The past few days had been, for lack of a better word, hell. Having come to terms with his best mate's untimely death, Sirus found himself in a perpetually angry state of mind, hating everything and everyone that dared to cross his path. He hated Voldemort for offing his friends. He hated his vile and racist family for supporting the bastard. He hated Dumbledore for not preventing this disaster. He hated Remus for being so bloody put together. He hated Peter for being a spineless backstabbing git. But more than anything he hated himself. He hated himself for…

"Sodding fuck," sighed Sirus. He lifted his head to gaze at the wall across from him, glancing at the gathering of mismatched picture frames. Rising from his spot on the floor, Sirus stepped closer to the pictures that hung crookedly from the wall, remembering how from time to time Lily would not-so-subtly hint towards Sirus' horrible lack of decorating skills as she straightened the pictures upright.

As Sirus situated a particularly wonky frame his eyes came to rest on a picture from their seventh year. They were all there, scattered haphazardly around the giant oak that they had claimed as theirs. Lily lay on her stomach, scribbling frantically on a piece of parchment while James, who sat perched beside her, played idly with her hair. Remus' head was buried in a book, as per usual, while Sirus lounged lazily nearby. Peter sat with his back against the tree laughing, most likely at some sarcastic side note Remus had thrown Sirus' way.

Sirus stared at the photo version of Peter, searching for a sign of discontent or betrayal, anything that hinted towards the cowardly ass he would prove to be, but all he saw was adoration and happiness between friends.

Letting out a guttural cry of rage, Sirus snatched the frame from the wall and threw it across the hall where it shattered upon contact with the door to his bedroom. Bits of glass and wood scattered across the hall as the photo landed lightly facedown on the carpet.

"Shit."

Sirus stared at the back of the photograph for a considerable amount of time before decidedly turning away and resuming his earlier act of pacing.

They had been happy. Even through the darkness of the war and the gloom that had settled over the wizarding world, they had been happy. Dinners were still arranged, visits were as common as ever. The Marauders prevailed. They were soul mates; closer than ever, with Lily and Harry under their watch. Where had everything turned to shit?

Sirus had spent a good part of the last two days contemplating how Peter could have turned his back on them, where he had found the courage to indirectly kill two of his best friends. He spent the rest of his time contemplating how he, in turn, would kill Peter. Remus, on the other hand, spent the last two days kindly but forcefully reminding Sirus that killing Peter would only add to his already long list of horrible life choices.

_"There is always a reason, Sirus. We may not understand it right now, but imagine what could have possibly been going through his mind for him to have betrayed them in such a manner,"_ he had said.

Sirus didn't know what was going through Peter's mind, and quite frankly he couldn't be bothered to care. Peter Pettigrew murdered his best friend. Peter Pettigrew had betrayed their trust. Peter Pettigrew had single handedly brought his world to a stop.

And for that, Peter Pettigrew was going to die. Tonight.

**Stage 3: Bargaining  
>Severus<br>**_"What more would you have me do, Severus? Exchange your life for hers?"_

I have never believed in God. At least, I have never believed in the divine right of God. Who is he to give and take life, to spread joy and despair as he pleases? The one who has the power to create a world of light, and he chooses to cover us with darkness.

-  
>"My lord, you asked to see me?"<p>

"Ah, Severus. Sit, sit. Come join us in our celebration," says the hiss-like voice of Voldemort from the opposite end of the darkened dining hall.

I stand still at the entrance, looking in upon those who have gathered at my Master's call. Why have so many been called?

Someone nearby clears their throat and I am broken from my musings.

"Celebration, my Lord?" I ask timidly as I make my way to the seat he has offered me.

"Yes, Severus. A celebration of my good fortune," Voldemort tells me, a small manic smile playing on his lips. "You see Severus, I have found the Potters."

My heart clenches and I fight to keep my voice steady when I respond.

"J-James and Lily Potter, Sir?"

"The very same," he says idly as he summons for someone standing in the shadows. The figure shuffles his way into our midst and pulls back the hood of his cloak. His face is familiar. He is one of Potter's friends.

"Young Peter here has decided to join our ranks and with him he brings the most delightful news. Isn't that so, Peter?"

Peter nods. His eyes betray the fear he is trying to hide.

I swallow my own worries and turn to face my Master.

"Is it wise to trust someone so close to them, Sir? Perhaps this is a trap," I offer. Maybe I can turn this around.

"Have faith in our new friend, Severus."

"My Lord, what if the prophecy wasn't about the Potters?" I ask tentatively. A seed of doubt, that's all I need.

He waves his hand at me dismissively. "Now now Severus, there is no need for such questions."

"But, my Lord, perhaps you should take your time in deciding-"

"I have wasted enough time. I have decided. I shall bring an end to the Potter's, and with them shall die all those too cowardly to submit to my power."

"Yes, my Lord. You reign is much anticipated but-"

"Enough, Severus. You bore me with your worry," he says lazily, turning his face away from mine.

"My apologies," I mumble. "But I can't help but wonder, my Lord, why _all_ the Potters must die. Surely the child's life is sufficient."

"They will not surrender they're child so easily Severus. I can only assume that they will stand in my way."

"Yes, but the woman. She is-"

"Do I detect a fondness for thy enemy, Severus?" he asks, turning to face me once more. "A fondness for the mudblood girl, perhaps?"

Someone laughs. I suspect Bellatrix.

"N-no," I blurt out hurriedly, my mind racing to find a suitable lie. "I mean to say that she is very gifted. Perhaps she could be of so- some use."

"She will be most useful to me when she is dead," says Voldemort. He looks not malicious, as you would suspect of someone plotting murder, but simply bored.

"But-"

"It had been done, Severus. They must die." A new forcefulness has penetrated his voice. The room grows silent and I fear I am fighting a losing battle.

"My Lord, please…"

" You are blinded by lust, Severus. You fail to see past your own misguided affection for the girl and it wounds me. Surely you can see that the end for the Potters is the beginning for us," he says in a slow hiss. I stay silent, staring into the fire across the room.

I hear a soft chuckle and the shuffling of robes beside me. My Master moves closer.

"Severus," he speaks lowly. I swallow the nagging fear of failure that penetrates my mind. "Severus?"

I turn my head to gaze into his compassionless eyes.

"What more would you have me do, Severus? Exchange her life for yours?" he asks in a jest. He finds my pain to be humorous; my torture just another game. My fellow followers laugh openly and the silence is broken, much like my resolve.

But I cannot bring myself to answer, though the word threatens to break free from my lips.

_Yes.  
><em>-

I should have said yes. I should have taken her place and I should have fought for her.

I should have looked past my hatred for that disgustingly arrogant Potter boy and sacrificed myself for their safety. For _her_ safety.

I should have come clean with Albus much sooner.

I should have hinted to my Master that the Longbottom boy would be his downfall. I should have spared the lives of three in exchange for a family that means little to me.

No.

I should have never relayed that prophecy.

I have never believed in God. That is why, on this night, you may find it peculiar that I have so willingly offered all my life and being to this person of imagination. Perhaps you'll ask yourself why a person of such limited faith would bare his soul and beg for his own life to be taken. The answer, so bittersweet in taste, is quite possibly God's greatest creation of all.

Love.

I never believed in God…until he took Lily Evans. Now, I ask him to take me.__

**Stage 4: Depression  
>Petunia<strong>  
><em>…but in her quite separation, she missed her.<em>

To say that Petunia Dursley hadn't liked her sister would undoubtedly be an understatement. She had loathed her sister. She had loathed the way she dressed and the bright shine of her auburn hair. She had loathed the way her sister left her for that retched school, married that retched boy, and lived happily with her retched child.

Yes, Petunia Dursley had loathed her sister, but that was when she had a sister to loathe.

-

Sitting in an armchair, placed comfortably in the corner of a pristine nursery, Petunia gazed upon the two sleeping children across the room. Her son slept peacefully in his crib, the tiniest of snores emitting from his slightly opened mouth. In a crib adjacent to his sat another baby boy, cooing softly at her through the wooden bars.

Sighing softly, she lifted herself from the chair and walked slowly over to the crib. The baby laughed lightly and threw his arms up at her, silently asking to be held. Hesitantly, she gathered him in her arms and made her way back to the armchair, the child nestling comfortably against her chest.

"Dudley never requires this much attention," she muttered softly to the baby that continued to stare at her.

Eyes of vibrant green followed her hand as she made to tidy the mess of black hair upon his head. She quickly gave up hope that his hair would ever stay in place and instead settled for simply petting his head in what she hoped was an affectionate manner.

"You have your mother's eyes," she whispered somberly.

Petunia smiled sadly. True enough, this child was a spitting image of his insufferable father, but all she could see was her sister.

The baby's eyes began to droop and with the smallest of yawns finally settled to a close, leaving Petunia alone with nothing but two sleeping infants and her thoughts.

On the table beside her lay the letter she found next to the baby in her arms just this morning. Harry, it read, was the name of the child who mysteriously appeared on her doorstep overnight. This letter, filled with the most ridiculous of notions and a load of nonsense about magical protection, also brought the news of her sister's death.

Petunia tore her eyes away from the letter and fixed her sight on the unnervingly clean wall across the room. She didn't feel like thinking about her sister.

If someone were to speculate as to why Petunia was so adamant about not thinking of Lily, they would perhaps be tempted by the idea that she simply didn't care about her sister's untimely death. However, if someone were to speculate that this indeed _was_ the cause of her persistence, they would find themselves to be incorrect.

For Petunia Dursley loathed her sister, but in her quiet separation, she missed her.

But how does one mourn for a loved one lost, when one's love was never expressed? She couldn't recall ever telling her sister that she loved her. Had Lily known that even through her outwardly expressed hatred, Petunia still cared?

Petunia closed her eyes to fight back the stinging tears that threatened to fall and the memories of the hateful words that threatened to haunt her.

A part of her that she hadn't acknowledged since childhood had died this morning upon the news of Lily's death, and no matter how hard she tried to deny it, an overwhelming sense of loss consumed her.

Her husband Vernon voiced that she was simply feeling the anxiety of this inconvenient burden that was placed upon their doorstep.

Petunia looked down at the child sleeping in her arms and let loose the tears she had been holding back all day. She failed to see the burden in the child that held so much likeness to her sister.

Choking back a sob, she hugged the child closer to her and whispered softly in his ear.

Had anybody cared to listen, they might have heard the faintest profession of love; years of sorrow and regret in the form of two tear shrouded words.

"I'm sorry." 

**Stage 5: Acceptance  
>Albus<br>**_…even tragedies bring a sense of wonder…_  
><strong><br>**The room was sickeningly silent as Albus took his seat at the head of the table. The surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix had all gathered at his request, some now sitting with their heads buried in their hands, others leaning quietly against the wall.

After settling himself in his chair, Albus Dumbledore felt a shift in mood around the room. Its occupants, somber faced and broken, stared at him expectantly.

"James and Lily Potter…"he spoke softly, breaking the silence. "…were courageous souls. They were kind hearted, fearless, and lived in the fullest. I do not need to tell you that their murder is saddening, for loss is a universal feeling all of us in this room have felt the tragedy of their passing."

He paused, smiley sadly at the faces staring back at him.

"But even tragedies bring a sense of wonder with their story," he said, his voice a bit stronger than before. "Lord Voldemort has been defeated, and in his departure from this world leaves behind the hope and compassion that some of us may have lost or forgotten over the past years. I cannot explain to you why James and Lily's son has lived, but I can only hope that you will revel in this miracle and remember that even in the darkest of times there is always light."

-

"Albus?"

"Ah, Minerva. Thank you for coming today," said Albus, smiling softly as he shut the door after the last of the members said their goodbyes.

"Of course. James and Lily's deaths, as you said, have affected us all," she said sadly.

"Yes, yes it is unfortunate. We have truly lost two wondrous people."

Minerva sniffed lightly and looked down at her feet.

"Is something troubling you, Minerva?"

"Albus, about the boy…"

"I explained to you the other night, it is for his own good. He should be allowed to live his life away from the pain and exposure that our world has to offer," he said firmly, looking at her over is half moon glasses.

"No, no it's not about that. I agree that he needs to grow up away from all of this," said Minerva, nodding in agreement. "But I can see it on your face Albus, you fear for this child."

"Ah, yes," he said slowly as he moved past her and into the sitting room. He took a seat near the hearth and stared curiously into the flames, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Minerva took a seat across from him, waiting for him to speak.

"There are many things I fear, Minerva. That this war has broken our world, that we will be unable to move past the deaths of our loved ones, and that our lives have taken an irreversible turn down an uncharted path," he paused, pushing his spectacles further up on his crooked nose. "Harry Potter will not have an easy life. He will be challenged in more ways than you or I could ever fathom. Imagine growing up a legend and never knowing it. But I'm afraid that fame and adolescent mishaps are the least of our concerns."

"What do you mean, Albus?" Minerva asked in a hushed whisper.

"I believe, Minerva…" Albus said, breaking his gaze from the fire and meeting her stare with saddened eyes. "…that young Mr. Potter and Voldemort will meet again." 


End file.
